Fic: Pearly Whites
Title: Pearly Whites
Prompt: Teeth/AU at sm_monthly . No way I could not touch this.
Characters: Mina, Zoisite
Genre: Horror, Dark (meaning this has an R-rating)
Summary: He has no idea. She however does.
***
First and foremost, he’s a collector. There is a system, a method, a love of details in his approach. His selection is never arbitrary, in fact, that’s what always takes longest, picking out just the right person among the many thousand living in the city.
But unlike The Ripper, he doesn’t write letters, doesn’t tease the police. It’s why they have no idea he even exists, which is good.
It means that he won’t ever have to stop.
***
He first sees her walking into the brothel, head held high, not an ounce of shame in her step. She moves likes someone who doesn’t belong here, but her ragged clothing and her dirty skin tell him otherwise. She’s right at the bottom of the food chain, and the brothel is the only place where she can sleep tonight. Of course, she won’t be sleeping alone.
Then some paper boy catcalls, she turns around, and flashes the boy a wicked grin.
Her teeth are perfectly white.
Oh, he thinks, that was easy, and waits ten minutes before he follows her into the brothel, coins and other things rattling in his pockets.
***
The next morning comes, and to his surprise, she is still alive. She is sitting up, grinning at him. Her corset is tattered on the floor, ripped to shreds. But so are all of his clothes. The coins and teeth from his pockets are strewn around the room like marbles. This was not supposed to happen, he thinks sluggishly. His head feels heavy. One time as a boy, he and his brother went swimming in a lake, and his brother pushed him under water until his lungs were filled with it, and his head felt as if it was going to explode. It’s like this now.
How she got him to pay for the whole night and to not do what he came for is a mystery. He frowns and tries to look at her, really look at her, at her bright eyes, and her white teeth, and only then does he look at the sheets. They’re red with blood, and yet she is still alive. She is still alive. He is usually not as messy as this.
She slips out from under the sheets, and moves over to the drapes. The sun is just beginning to rise, and she winces. Her white hands reach out and she draws the drapes shut, very, very quickly.
“That’s better, isn’t it?”
He blinks. It’s not. He tries to sit up, but finds that he can’t. His limps feel heavy, and his throat hurts. There is a moment when he feels that he can piece things together, but then she hops on the bed and straddles him, gloriously naked, long blonde hair tumbling down her back. She looks younger than she did last night, healthier. It doesn’t make sense. With that much blood on the sheets, she should be dead, shouldn’t she?
“I have met many men like you,” she says, and laughs. It sounds like little silver bells. Warning bells, ringing loud enough that his heart beat speeds up. “You think you are so clever, and so dangerous, but you’re neither, now are you, love?”
There is a part of him that wants to punch her then, punch her right in her perfect face, even though it would ruin her teeth. But her blue eyes hold him captive, and he finds he can’t do anything, anything at all. Her grin turns into a smile then, slow and sweet and dangerous. She leans forward, and he thinks she is going to kiss him, but instead she licks his face. Her tongue comes away coloured in a dark red. Blood red.
“You taste so good. The depraved always do.” She whispers it against his skin, and then the memory comes back to him, in one cold, fast, hard rush to the head. Teeth. Pointy teeth. Pain. His blood spilling in her mouth and on the sheets.
She laughs again. “Oh yes, love, oh yes.” He hears a snapping sound, and when she comes into his line of vision again, her canines are as sharp and pointy as a dogs. “Time for dessert,” she whispers, and then his world goes black.
***
She leaves the brothel at night, a swing in her steps. She buys the paper from the paper boy, coins and other things rattling in her pockets, and flashes him her shiny, pearly whites.
***
The End
Prompt: Teeth/AU at sm_monthly . No way I could not touch this.
Characters: Mina, Zoisite
Genre: Horror, Dark (meaning this has an R-rating)
Summary: He has no idea. She however does.
***
First and foremost, he’s a collector. There is a system, a method, a love of details in his approach. His selection is never arbitrary, in fact, that’s what always takes longest, picking out just the right person among the many thousand living in the city.
But unlike The Ripper, he doesn’t write letters, doesn’t tease the police. It’s why they have no idea he even exists, which is good.
It means that he won’t ever have to stop.
***
He first sees her walking into the brothel, head held high, not an ounce of shame in her step. She moves likes someone who doesn’t belong here, but her ragged clothing and her dirty skin tell him otherwise. She’s right at the bottom of the food chain, and the brothel is the only place where she can sleep tonight. Of course, she won’t be sleeping alone.
Then some paper boy catcalls, she turns around, and flashes the boy a wicked grin.
Her teeth are perfectly white.
Oh, he thinks, that was easy, and waits ten minutes before he follows her into the brothel, coins and other things rattling in his pockets.
***
The next morning comes, and to his surprise, she is still alive. She is sitting up, grinning at him. Her corset is tattered on the floor, ripped to shreds. But so are all of his clothes. The coins and teeth from his pockets are strewn around the room like marbles. This was not supposed to happen, he thinks sluggishly. His head feels heavy. One time as a boy, he and his brother went swimming in a lake, and his brother pushed him under water until his lungs were filled with it, and his head felt as if it was going to explode. It’s like this now.
How she got him to pay for the whole night and to not do what he came for is a mystery. He frowns and tries to look at her, really look at her, at her bright eyes, and her white teeth, and only then does he look at the sheets. They’re red with blood, and yet she is still alive. She is still alive. He is usually not as messy as this.
She slips out from under the sheets, and moves over to the drapes. The sun is just beginning to rise, and she winces. Her white hands reach out and she draws the drapes shut, very, very quickly.
“That’s better, isn’t it?”
He blinks. It’s not. He tries to sit up, but finds that he can’t. His limps feel heavy, and his throat hurts. There is a moment when he feels that he can piece things together, but then she hops on the bed and straddles him, gloriously naked, long blonde hair tumbling down her back. She looks younger than she did last night, healthier. It doesn’t make sense. With that much blood on the sheets, she should be dead, shouldn’t she?
“I have met many men like you,” she says, and laughs. It sounds like little silver bells. Warning bells, ringing loud enough that his heart beat speeds up. “You think you are so clever, and so dangerous, but you’re neither, now are you, love?”
There is a part of him that wants to punch her then, punch her right in her perfect face, even though it would ruin her teeth. But her blue eyes hold him captive, and he finds he can’t do anything, anything at all. Her grin turns into a smile then, slow and sweet and dangerous. She leans forward, and he thinks she is going to kiss him, but instead she licks his face. Her tongue comes away coloured in a dark red. Blood red.
“You taste so good. The depraved always do.” She whispers it against his skin, and then the memory comes back to him, in one cold, fast, hard rush to the head. Teeth. Pointy teeth. Pain. His blood spilling in her mouth and on the sheets.
She laughs again. “Oh yes, love, oh yes.” He hears a snapping sound, and when she comes into his line of vision again, her canines are as sharp and pointy as a dogs. “Time for dessert,” she whispers, and then his world goes black.
***
She leaves the brothel at night, a swing in her steps. She buys the paper from the paper boy, coins and other things rattling in her pockets, and flashes him her shiny, pearly whites.
***
The End